


Naked Mole Rats and Other Musings

by the_moonmoth



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Baking, F/M, Gen, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manicures & Pedicures, Miracles, Other, Post-Canon, Scene: Flood in Mesopotamia 3004 BC (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens), St James's Park (Good Omens), aziraphale says fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 3,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27517864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_moonmoth/pseuds/the_moonmoth
Summary: You just saved their lives, Aziraphale thought. It wasn’t clear that Crowley even realised he’d done it.A little collection of micro-fic.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 64
Kudos: 149





	1. Casual Miracles

**Author's Note:**

> Finally getting around to uploading this batch of tumblr ficlets. The original idea was that I would write a "micro fic" for each prompt, something like a paragraph, or less than 100 words. As usual, mostly I failed XD

“Naked mole rat,” Crowley said. The wind tugged his hair as they walked beneath the trees of St. James’s Park. Aziraphale believed the style he was sporting these days was called a ‘mop top,’ and he supposed he could see why, but he couldn’t help but find the way Crowley’s fringe was being swept away from his forehead somewhat nostalgic. 

“They have a certain charm,” he replied.

“Really? With the– you know, the teeth?”

The wind whirled, and Aziraphale pulled his coat more tightly around him. The air was cold, surely there was a storm blowing in, but he could wait it out a little longer – if it started to rain, that would be an excellent excuse to invite Crowley to lunch.

He shrugged. “Have you ever petted one? Their skin is like velvet.”

“All right, how about the stink bird? Smells like death, that one. Not to mention it looks like a demon.”

Aziraphale thought that at least one demon of his acquaintance looked (and smelled) more appealing than a stink bird, but he kept that to himself.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “They don’t smell _that_ bad.”

“Are you–” Crowley spluttered. “Have you actually smelled one? They’re worse than Hastur on a hot day.”

Aziraphale glanced at him sideways. Crowley seemed to be getting nicely wound up; Aziraphale was rather enjoying himself. 

“All creatures, Crowley,” he said mildly. “Great, small, and foul-smelling.”

“No, but come on, there must be something,” he said. “Something that just–”

The wind kicked up again, trees rustling and creaking. A sudden cracking sound made Aziraphale jump, but before he could react, Crowley snapped his fingers and the branch that had started to fall across the path up ahead joined back up with its tree trunk, the rift in the wood sealing as though it had never been there. All this happened in approximately half a second, and Crowley barely missed a beat.

“–that just _disgusts_ you.”

Ahead of them on the path, the woman and her young child who had stopped to look at the fallen leaves beneath that particular tree carried on oblivious.

“Blob fish!” Crowley said, wagging his finger.

 _You just saved their lives_ , Aziraphale thought. It wasn’t clear that Crowley even realised he’d done it. Suppressing a smile, Aziraphale looked down and busied himself with adjusting his scarf.

“Yes, all right,” he conceded. “I suppose you have a point with that one. They are rather repulsive.”

Crowley made some triumphant noises, but in point of fact, ‘repulsed’ was quite the opposite to how Aziraphale felt just then. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For @fancytrinkets, who asked for: A small moment in which Crowley or Aziraphale performs a casual miracle without really thinking about it and the other one notices and smiles.


	2. Chip Shop

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, and gave a pleased little wiggle.

Standing next to him in the chip shop, Crowley looked over with a raised eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale said, still smiling that small, inward-facing smile. Crowley squeezed his hand questioningly. “It’s just,” Aziraphale continued. “There’s a poem. About standing in the fish and chip queue, wishing you had more than just yourself to buy supper for.” He glanced over at Crowley, squeezing his hand back, face shining with happiness. “I just realised it doesn’t apply anymore.”

Crowley’s heart grew so big it filled up his throat. “Yeah,” he managed. “Not anymore, angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @pinehutch asked for "chip shop."
> 
> The poem is [Vinegar](https://www.oatridge.co.uk/poems/r/roger-mcgough-vinegar.php) by Roger McGough.


	3. The Human Way (tomorrow)

The first time it happened was in Eden, when Crowley was still regularly changing between forms. Aziraphale simply plopped down beside him one day, a veritable cornucopia of fruit gathered in the skirt of his robe, and proceeded to eat and talk and try to cajole Crowley into trying things until the heat of the day and the fullness of his stomach seemed to lull him into a heavy-eyed stupor. Leaning back on the rock Crowley was currently coiled upon, he didn’t even seem to notice that his fluffy angelic head had come to rest on something rather less rock-like. And he was so warm. It was only instinct, really, for Crowley to loop himself around the angel’s shoulders and go to sleep.

The second time it happened, they were stumbling-drunk, giggling and shushing their way up to one or the other of their dwellings. Crowley didn’t remember transforming, but when he woke to Aziraphale’s pained moan some time the following day, he was draped across Aziraphale’s prone and hungover body in his snake form, and didn’t see any urgent need to change back.

The third time it happened, Crowley was merely cold and feeling daring. He was quite prepared for Aziraphale to tut and push him off – and really, irritating the angel could be its own kind of fun – but just like before, Aziraphale barely seemed to notice the incursion on his personal space. After a few minutes, the steady warm weight of his hand came to rest somewhere on the length of Crowley’s spine.

After that, it happened several times more, never quite premeditated, but certainly never too often to be obvious. ‘Aziraphale doesn’t seem to mind a giant black snake snuggling up to him’ simply became a fact of existence on Earth, a trinket, a little pearl of information, akin to ‘Aziraphale likes books’ and ‘the British Isles are a bit damp’. In terms of what it meant, at first Crowley didn’t know, and then he didn’t dare hope, and then he _did_ dare hope, and then he just tried not to think about it to the extent that that was possible.

Then the Apocalypse came and went, and they somehow survived it, and the whole world took on a gold-tinted glow. They walked side by side towards the Ritz, and only detoured briefly when Aziraphale, with a deep breath and a “sorry, my dear, but I really need to–” pushed Crowley up against a tree trunk and kissed him breathless. Well, ‘briefly’ in the context of the length of time Crowley had been dreaming about such a thing – by the time they disentangled and continued on their way, the sun had actually moved quite an appreciable angle across the sky. 

Crowley couldn’t have been happier. Could barely speak from happiness, in fact, which worked out fine because Aziraphale had a great deal to say and Crowley simply watched him with the utmost contentedness as he talked and glowed and filled the room with light.

It was only once they had returned to the bookshop that uncertainty crept up on him. Aziraphale was buzzing around the stacks like a delighted honeybee in a field of flowers, and Crowley shoved his fingers into his too-small pockets and felt, all of a sudden, surplus to requirements.

In the past, he would have just left, made some casual parting remark and waved over his shoulder as he sauntered out, wishing all the while he could’ve found it in himself to stay a little longer. It had always seemed easier to remove himself, before Aziraphale had to ask him to go. Now, though. Now was a world in which Aziraphale had kissed him, a world they had helped to save together. Now was a world in which ‘our side’ wasn’t just a pipe dream or a very vivid hallucination. Now, maybe, he felt a little bit braver.

Braver, but still unwilling to mess it all up.

“Isss thisss okay?” Crowley hissed as he slithered his way up to Aziraphale’s shoulders. Aziraphale turned his head to give him a long look, before a gentle smile curved the corner of his mouth, and he left his books behind to walk the short distance to his favourite armchair in the back room.

Once seated, he sighed. “My dear, this is perfect,” he said, radiating warmth and contentedness. He stroked one hand tenderly down the length of Crowley’s scales. “Though I would certainly not be averse to trying it the human way tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Crowley agreed. And maybe, he was starting to realise, all the days after, as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @fic-request-blog asked for "soft snek cuddles"


	4. A Whisper To His Heart

Sometimes, at night, once the rain had stopped, they would sit side by side on the railing of the upper deck, passing wine back and forth between them and looking at the stars above the vast new ocean.

“That one’s Antares,” Crowley would say (or Rigel, or Betelgeuse, or Jupiter). “See that smudge of white between those two stars? That’s the Orion nebula.”

“Think they’ll ever go up there, humans?” Aziraphale asked him once.

Crowley’s face did something complicated before he said, “Yeah, why not? Look at what they’ve achieved in just the first thousand years.”

He didn’t say that there were rather fewer of them now than there had been a couple of months ago. He didn’t need to.

“They’ll recover, you know,” Aziraphale said anyway. “They’re very good at bouncing back. Resilient. Really this is just a minor set back.”

“Minor setback?” Crowley muttered, but without much outrage. He looked tired. He had looked tired since Aziraphale had found him in a waterlogged heap, half-conscious behind the bridge. Outrage would’ve been easy to argue with, a force against which he could harden his defences; tiredness was a whisper to his heart.

“I’m sorry about the children,” Aziraphale said, staring at his hands. “I know… I know you…”

“Doesn’t matter, angel,” Crowley said hoarsely. “Not your fault.”

 _Isn’t it, though?_ he wanted to ask, but of course he couldn’t.

“How did you get here, anyway?” he asked instead. He’d had orders to keep any unsanctioned humans from boarding. No one had said anything about half-drowned demons.

“That’s easy, angel,” Crowley said softly. “Look up.”

Aziraphale did, first at Crowley’s face, then at the water. Trailing in the wake of the ark, the sea seemed to glow, leaving a luminescent trail that marked their passage.

“Like a big, flashing sign pointing your way.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. “Oh, it’s lovely. I’ve spent so long looking up, I never noticed what was right before me all this time.”

Crowley made a quiet sound of agreement, and when Aziraphale glanced back at him, his eyes were fixed to the water, glowing softly in the night, their own kind of beacon, right before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @saucydryad's prompt was "Aziraphale and Crowley observing bioluminescence. I think this is my favourite one from this batch :)


	5. Radiance

“… perhaps I shouldn’t have gone for off-the-rack, but I heard it was all the rage these days, and really, this assignment shouldn’t last all that long, I didn’t want to spend a lot of money on a new wardrobe, and–”

“Angel.” Crowley cut her off and she stopped her pacing, fretful hands pausing. “You look beautiful.”

“Yes I know, but that shop-assistant said–” Then she seemed to register what Crowley had said. “Oh,” she said softly. “Well. Thank you, my dear.”

Then she smiled, and Crowley, who had been having his own private little fret over possibly having said too much, forgot everything else in the face of her radiance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @pollyismychild's prompt: I'm feeling really self conscious today so could you please write a fic on some stranger making azira self conscious about her body and crowley just sorts swoops in and tries to comfort her


	6. Simple Needs

It didn’t happen very often. To actually experience the humdrum kinds of discomfort of their ostensibly human bodies, angels (or for that matter, demons) had to either be very committed or very distracted, and while it was true that Aziraphale was fully capable of sitting in one position reading for long enough that dust began to settle, it was always somehow comforting to Crowley that the angel never usually let it take a physical toll. 

Sometimes, though. Sometimes the sun would be at just the wrong angle, or the seating arrangement would be particularly awkward, or the bender especially lengthy, and Crowley would walk in to find Aziraphale squinting uncomfortably at his clay tablet or scroll or codex or book. And whatever whim or favour had sent him to Aziraphale’s door would dissolve like sugar in tea as a haze of catastrophic fondness enveloped him.

So when he came home to their cottage after a run into town for the paper and a packet of fondant fancies, to find Aziraphale unmoved from the end of the settee he had been occupying for over a day now, cocoa sitting stone cold at his elbow and grimacing down at the well-thumbed pages of what Crowley was quite certain was one of his old favourites, it wasn’t really anything new. But, he realised, as he went round drawing the curtains to stem the slant of the afternoon light, this was: being able to lean over Aziraphale’s shoulder and drop a soft kiss to his cheek while prising the book from his resisting fingers; soothing Aziraphale’s hoarse objections with gentle words of his own, whispered warmly into the shell of his ear; sliding his reading glasses from his nose before tipping his head back against the sofa cushions with tender fingertips; rubbing the tension from his forehead and temples as Aziraphale hummed and sighed happily.

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale said after some quiet minutes of this. “I think I needed that.”

Crowley didn’t say that after millennia of watching, perhaps _he’d_ needed it too. But there was something of the sentiment in the lingering kiss he pressed to Aziraphale’s forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @saretton's prompt was: Came home from work with a nasty headache, so... I thought, why not some Aziraphale having an ineffable headache and Crowley comforting him? (Bonus points if it's because A. has read too many books!)


	7. Bath Time

Aziraphale leaned back in the hot water and sighed happily, squeezing the rubber duck until it emitted a wheezy sort of squeak.

“It feels so good to finally get what you want,” he said, wriggling his shoulders a little to get comfortable.

“Yeah,” Crowley said from behind him, and wrapped him in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @theminornotes asked for ducks


	8. Simple Pleasures

Crowley might not be able to sense love the way Aziraphale can, but that’s not to say he’s completely blind to emotion. Part of the job description is being able to know what people want, and that comes with a skill set all its own. Knowing what brings someone joy, for example, can be incredibly useful. Especially when that person is your hereditary enemy.

Yup. Bringing Aziraphale joy is all just part of the demonic wiling package. Like when he caused that cook in Bakewell to slip and spill custard over her tarts, leaving all manner of mischief in its wake of course (the king wasn’t best pleased) but thinking the whole time of how Aziraphale’s face would look when Crowley brought him something new to try.

Or the time he rescued Aziraphale’s favourite white robe from the kind of tear no seamstress would be able to fix. 

Or even, if you wanted to go that far back, offering Aziraphale a peony in Eden because the big, pink blooms had a softness to them that reminded him of the angel.

Absolutely one hundred percent, totally legitimate use of his demonic powers, that. And if Crowley gets something out of the sudden joy that Aziraphale floods in his direction every time, well it’s not like Hell is ever going to know.

(It’s not like Aziraphale is ever going to know, either. But maybe one day, after a lovely meal and the clinking of champagne flutes, and the deluge of Aziraphale’s joy not just in the material things but in Crowley’s presence as well, maybe then Crowley will tell him. And maybe Aziraphale will even have his own admissions to make.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @the-moon-loves-the-sea's prompt was "sudden joy"


	9. Angel's Choice

Crowley never sat as still as he did, Aziraphale thought, than when he was letting Aziraphale paint his nails.

This little tradition of theirs had started some time in the early 1970s, in that brief period Crowley had spent experimenting with punk before he’d discovered disco. He’d swanned in to the bookshop one day in a tartan ( _tartan_! Aziraphale had never been so vindicated) miniskirt and leather jacket, nails blackened and lumpy, and Aziraphale had looked at him aghast and said, “My dear, this will never do.”

Crowley had complained, of course. All supposedly part of the look. But then again, Aziraphale acknowledged in the most private corner of his labyrinthine mind, Crowley was also never one to pass up an opportunity to let Aziraphale touch him.

So Aziraphale spent the next fifty years soaking and massaging, filing and buffing – touching, so much touching – all the while resisting the urge to bring those hands to his face and lean across the small distance between them.

They’d gone through punk black, and disco glitter. The neon shades of the 80s and slightly terrifying transfer craze of the 90s. Nanny Ashtoreth’s deep crimson. And now, well, now was the beginning of a new era and Crowley hadn’t asked for anything in particular.

“What do you fancy?” Aziraphale asked.

“Whatever you like, angel,” Crowley replied. “Your choice.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale flushed, his courage rising with his colour, and brought Crowley’s knuckles to his mouth.

There was a moment of absolute stillness, then many more moments of rather pronounced activity, and Aziraphale never did get around to finishing the manicure, but he supposed that neither of them were complaining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @elsajeni asked for Aziraphale painting Crowley’s nails


	10. Snowpocalypse

“No I really don’t think I will, Crowley.”

Aziraphale was starting to get that high-pitched, peevish note in his voice, and Crowley loved him dearly, but that was not his best look.

“I told you the Bentley couldn’t get up this hill in all this snow,” he added for good measure.

“Yes, please remind me of my hubris again,” Crowley muttered. “Three times wasn’t enough.”

Though Aziraphale didn’t sound quite so smug about being right anymore.

“It really is coming down heavily now,” Aziraphale said worriedly.

“Look, angel,” Crowley said, “these are your options. Get out and push, or drive while I push.”

And of course, Aziraphale (queen that he was) had never learned to drive.

Later, once they had been rescued by a local farmer in a 4x4, and made it to a B&B to warm up and wait out the sudden storm, Crowley peeled Aziraphale out of his ruined clothes, laid him back on the bed, and apologised properly. And of course Aziraphale (queen that he was) sighed happily and accepted it as his due.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @danainthedogpark's prompt was: human Crowley and Aziraphale experience car trouble. Specifically the Bentley breaks down and Aziraphale is smug.
> 
> (This is based on the true story of that time the author and her partner drove to Yorkshire)


	11. Demon's Choice

“How hard can it be?” Crowley had wondered out loud, approximately four hours and three burnt cakes ago. 

He was now looking fetchingly disheveled, hair coming out of its quiff to flop forlornly across his forehead, something that might’ve been vanilla essence smeared across one cheek, his outfit more grey than black with the fine covering of flour he’d managed to get all over himself, and most of the kitchen, too.

Aziraphale held in a smile and gently suggested what he had been too afraid to suggest earlier, in the face of Crowley’s enthusiasm. “How about I nip down the road to that charming little bakery and pick something up?”

Crowley’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Could just miracle it,” he said morosely.

Aziraphale winced. Miracled food was never quite the same. “How about this,” he said. “I’ll go and pick up a cake from the bakery while you get yourself cleaned up, and when I get back, I’ll come and join you.”

Crowley perked up at that. “Bath or shower?”

Aziraphale smiled, inordinately pleased with himself. “Your choice,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @luritto asked for: Crowley and Aziraphale attempt to bake a cake together, perhaps a birthday cake for Adam or Warlock?


	12. All The Rage

“It’s called a ‘sandwich,’” Crowley said, as the nice young lady in the tea shop set Aziraphale’s plate down in front of him. “They’re all the rage now.”

Aziraphale inspected the item. It appeared to be two slices of bread either side of some rather thick, juicy looking slices of ham.

“And one simply… picks it up? Without cutlery?” He glanced up at Crowley questioningly.

“That’s the idea,” Crowley said. “The ultimate in portable food, angel. Some people even forego a serviette.”

“Gosh,” Aziraphale said, delightedly scandalised (and conveniently forgetting that he had spent millennia both eating with his hands and foregoing a serviette). “Well, bottoms up, I supposed,” he said, picking it up with both hands, and taking a generous bite.

It was very good, and the experience was only slightly tarnished when Crowley explained, wicked gleam in his eye as Aziraphale effused over the combination – simply divine! – that the whole idea had sprung from the need to keep one hand free while gambling the day away at the card table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ephemeralmotif's prompt was "Crowley introduces Aziraphale to some weird new food craze, like the cronut. Is Aziraphale horrified or delighted?


	13. The Beginning of a Love Affair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the book: “Bugger!” [Aziraphale] said. It was the first time he’d sworn in more than four thousand years.

It was around 2000 BC that Crowley sidled up to him and said, “You’ll never guess where the humans have got to now, angel.” Followed swiftly by, “And what they’re drinking.”

Aziraphale, never one to miss out on a new culinary opportunity, rather shamelessly allowed himself to be tempted over to the previously uninhabited continent of America to investigate.

The bean itself wasn’t much to look at, and biting into it raw was a mistake Aziraphale wouldn’t make twice, but ground up and prepared properly, steaming hot and sultry-smelling in its little clay drinking vessel, hot cacao was like nothing else he’d ever tasted.

“Fuck me, that’s jolly good,” Aziraphale said, and was quite distracted enough by the way his taste buds were shimmying about all over his mouth to notice Crowley’s reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @thedropletsparkled's prompt was: Crowley offers Aziraphale hot chocolate.


End file.
